Free Bird
by Petunias
Summary: She's tearing apart her life as he's nurturing his back to health. A story of struggle in the midst of War.
1. Free Bird

I would really recommend listening to the song Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd while reading this.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or any affiliations.

**Free Bird**

She let a numbed hand run through her limp and thick hair. The slow melodic organ made her sway in the moonlight. It had been and hour since the heroin settled in. A stranger who had provided her the 'escape' was passed out on her bed, leaving her alone and contemplative. Free Bird was on repeat. What a coincidence. Everything in her life was on repeat. She shaked from withdrawl. The shakes came when she _was_ on something. Some days she couldn't feel. Others, she was another person, looking at her sagging form from another perspective, shaking her head in shame. She shivered from the non-existant chill and closed her eyes.

The runway was below her feet. Her step was that of a goddess. Damn, was she gorgeous. But, her friends wanted more. Puff this, shoot up that, pop the other thing. She just wanted acceptance. She just wanted to be beautiful.

But, that never happened. She was never good enough. She wasn't that daring in the eyes of others. She didn't party enough or lose enough weight before the next show. She couldn't do enough. And she couldn't escape it. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself she was better, run down apartments and meager incomes weren't that attractive. So she stuck to the meth and the heroin.

"Lord, I can't change."

_Oh yes. Take the words right out of my mouth!_ Gary Rossington's guitar solo picked up as one of the van Zant brothers sung into the microphone.

"Won't you fly high free bird? Yeah!"

She lip synced the words. She wanted to fly high. Fly far far away like Free Bird. She extended her arms to the moonlight, wanting to embrace everything it meant to her at that moment. She could feel herself being hoisted to the top of the railing. She gripped the Roof as she edged closer to the end of the balcony's railing. There was no space between her and the ground. No death fall lay ahead. She was the gap.

"Dear lord, let me be a bird. So I can fly far. Far away," He saw all of this from his little perch. He could watch no more. Her foot stretched out, trying to touch an invisible platform. "Won't you fly high free bird?"

She waited for the final crescendo of guitar. She let go of the ceiling. She leaned forward into the night air. She was flying one second. The next, she was falling. The music followed her, just as her life and dreams did; all descending into the darkness. A scream escaped her lips, not from terror, but from freedom. It was flying, liberation, whatever you may call it. It was freedom.

Muscular arms hooked themselves to her waist swinging her onto one of the balconies below. She dropped to the floor and curled up defensively. Shaking violently she looked up at the silouhette of a man. He was short, built and had thwarted her plan of finally escaping. _Why?_

He didn't know why he did it. She was just another human. A gaunt, drugged up, helpless human. He had been watching her from his hideout. He painfully dragged himself to that spot after the weather witch made a fried shish kabob out of him. He watched this woman tear her life apart as he nurtured his back to health.

It was a sickening sight.

This night was worse than most unfortunately. He had seen the drug dealer come up to her apartment with her. There were no lights save the flicker of the stove lighting the aluminum bowl. Moans and pants drifted from the balcony window. Then there she was. Clad in a night gown, hanging limply off her diminishing form, rhythmically undulating more than dancing to the same bloody song. Somehow he knew tonight would be the night she'd try to kill herself.

He wouldn't allow it.

"Why did you do that?" she snapped at him, not the least bit greatful for her rescue. "Why did you do that!?" she cried hysterically.

"Because you need to learn to value your life a little more," his words struck a chord in her and she sobbed silently. What would Magneto think if he'd seen this?

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He crouched down and cupped her chin with his hand. His hand had burn marks all over it. Looking closer as his face, she could see scars starting from his mouth and running down his throat and under his shirt. His eyes gleamed in the pale light, showing their black vastness. His appearance somehow made her realize her life wasn't so tough.

"I'm your bloody saviour luv," he stood back up and hopped onto the edge of the balcony. "Clean up yer act, or I might jus' do it for ya," and with that he leaped into the night air and latched onto the railings of another balcony across the street with his extended tongue. He then proceded to effortlessly crawl up the side of the building to a window on the top floor. She blinked to see if the drugs were making her trip. This was no hallucination.

She sat on a total stranger's balcony all night, reevaluating her life and future plans. She cringed at the thought of what she tried to do. There had to be a better option for her. She thought about the stranger savign her life. He was mutant. He wasn't one of those 'dangerous' mutants she heard about on the news. _Thank you_, she closed her eyes, exhausted from the night's events.

Rays of sunlight poked through the New York skyline giving the sky a flaming pink hue. A man inside the apartment looked out his window to find her curled up and asleep. It was the soundest of sleep she'd had in a long time.

A/N: Okay, I have no idea why I wrote this. It may have just been the song telling me to write something. Note, I may write a second chapter to this. If I don't, I hope you enjoyed.


	2. I'd Love to Change the World

_I've just decided to name each chapter after a famous Vietnam/Age of Free Love song. And their will be lyrics in each chapter. Like I recommended for the last chapter, I highly implore you to listen to 'I'd Love to Change the World' by Ten Years After while reading this._

**I'd Love to Change the World**

The following seven days were the roughest, most grueling days of her god given life. The shakes from withdrawl prevented her from even holding a utensil or pen without dropping it. Cold sweats soaked her clothes leaving her skin clammy and feverish.

Seven days of eternal damnation.

She almost gave in. She had the needle ready. The rubber was tied around her bicep, exposing the vein. It called to her. She was so close to sticking herself with a quivering hand. But, then she looked out her window to the apartment complex across the street. She trailed up the building to the highest window. The room inside was dark, the black plastic bag being used as a makeshift drape hiding the room's content from her peering eyes. She knew he was watching her, and she knew he'd be ashamed if she did it.

She threw the needle across the room and broke down in a fit of hysterics. She wanted to do it. She was _so close_. But, she couldn't. He wouldn't let her. As much as she hated his guts for not letting her relieve the tension and succumb to the euphoric sensation, she was thankful. He was saving her life, whether her body wanted to admit to it or not.

Some of the burns were scabbing; others were tearing, leaving him in terrible bloody heap on the splintered floor. His tongue hung limply to the side of his mouth, extended just enough so the tip touched the dusty wood below him. He couldn't risk raiding the closest convenient store for bandages. He shouldn't have even leapt from his hiding spot to save her. It only tore the tender wounds open again. His breath was caught in his throat as the pain throbbed up and down his body. He was fatigued, starving and in great anguish. This was his hell.

His hell was disturbed by a loud wrapping at the front door. He turned his head in the direction of the banging. Afraid it might be someone not so pleasant.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" it was her. Her timid voice was muffled by the thick wooden door, but he could still hear the tremors overcoming her body. "Hello?" he could hear the door, scratching the floor as it was pryed open. The hinges screeched making his blood curdle. "Oh my God," she gasped as she wriggled into the room. The sight of him almost made her turn in disgust, but she knew she couldn't. It would have offended him greatly and she owed him. She dropped to the floor next to him (more like collapsed from her weakness) afraid to touch his bloody form.

He couldn't speak, he couldn't even move. But, the black vastness for eyes were pleading. He wanted help. _Is this what he saw in my eyes that night?_ She gaped at him, wanting to help him so badly.

"I'm going to call for help. You need to be in a hospital." As the last word escaped her lips, he wheezed in protest. His hand, grabbed her leg in a firm grip. _No_, he gasped. She didn't understand him. Why was he unwilling to let her help?

That was when she noticed the discoloration of his skin. His skin was green. His tongue was abnormal. _Why are you thinking of such things __at__ a time like this?_ Then it hit her.

"Oh," it quietly escaped her lips. She understood now. She crouched down to him again, and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. He winced from her touch and she took back her hand. "I'll be right back. Stay here," she leapt up and wriggled past the door, leaving the sound of her heavy footsteps behind. He wanted to laugh. _Where the 'ell am I gonna go?_

She stumbled down the sidewalk to the drugstore, trying to focus her blurry eyes on where she was. Her high heels clunked with each step emphasizing her internal struggle to stay on her feet. She sighed as she came to the foot of the drugstore, opening the glass door with a tinkle of the bell. She dragged herself over to the first aid kits, grabbing every bag of bandages and tube of aloe and neosporin in sight. Her hands began to shake violently, dropping everything on the floor. "Damnit," she hissed. Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks as she tried to pick up the fallen contents.

Customers nearby watched, pondering the sight in front of them. She could feel their gazes pouring down on her. She snapped her head back and yelled at them, "Well, what the hell's wrong with ya? All of ya?" they quickly averted their stares. The Pakistani man at the front counter was trying to yell in rudimentary English at a customer.

"No _habla_ Español. English you dumbfucker!" His yells were riddled in an Indian accent, only making the scene more comical. But, she wasn't paying attention to this. The television next to him was looping repeated scenes of the Liberty Island attack with the volume turned down. The radio played silently in the background. The cashier was still yelling, and customers resumed staring at her, but she didn't care. Her ears were perked to the political activist rock classic as she watched the ticker tape run on the bottom of the tv. A song made famous for its political stand in the 70's was taking its stand once again on an all too familiar situation in a much different era.

**Attacks on mutant community.**

_"__Everywhere is freaks and hairies__"_

Footage of the white shapeless blob took over the screen while a small box on the bottom, showed the set-up for a press conference with the mayor of New York City.

**Mutants take a stand against threats.**

_"__Dykes and fairies__"_

**Mayor puts foot down on mutant tolerance.**

_"__Tell me where is sanity?__"_

"Miss?" the Pakistani's voice brought her back to solid ground and back to her dazed reality. "Are you going to pay for those?" he asked impatiently.

She slapped a fifty onto the counter and turned on a dime to leave. "Miss, you gave me too much!" _keep it_, she thought as she flew out the door back onto the loud-mouthed, car horn-filled street. The music may have left her ears, but it played on in her head.

_I'd love to change the world,_

She could just see the mayor, primped and propper, flashing a contempt expression at the clicking and popping cameras. She could already see his thin scraggly old lips yell his opinion to the world.

_But, I don't know what to do,_

The mayor was why she couldn't call for an ambulance. The mobs were the reason she couldn't take him anywhere without making a horrific scene. No wonder they would attack the UN assembly. For the way they were being treated, they had every right to be pissed off.

_So I leave it up to you_.

This was her attempt at help, no matter how small it was. He had done the same. _Return the favor_. It ran through her head just as the slide guitar and thoughts of a new era of segregation did. A new minority was being cast aside and looked down upon. Another revolution was brewing. This was a nation bleeding; the fabric of American morals being torn in two once more by political opinion. And she was just one woman, trying to help another in need.

She fumbled with the lock to her door and pushed it open. She threw the bandages and creams into a burlap bag and opened her fridge. It took all her might to fight the shakes as she piled bottles of water into the bag and slammed the fridge door shut. She went to her closet next, pulling down towels and stuffing them into the bag as well.

_World Pollution, theres no solution,_

She trotted across the street, almost becoming road kill in the process, "Watch where ya goin'!" the cab driver bellowed from his window, flipping her the bird. She appologized frantically and raced up to the door of the apartment complex, looking out for cracks prepared to twist her heal.

_Institution, electrocution,_

Her pumps stomped on the uneven stairs. She was almost blind now from tears. She had no reason for them to appear the way they did. It was probably the withdrawl. She finally reached the final step, catching the front of her foot and falling face first into the floor. The bag slid across the hall, spilling its contents in every direction. She pushed herself with trembling hands onto her feet and walked cautiously to the bag, picking up items as she went.

_Just black and white,_

She sniffed, desperately trying to hold back the gush of blood begging to free itself from her nostrils. She pinched her nose with one hand while grabbing bandages with another. She hated this weakness. If only she had one shot…

_Rich or poor,_

No! There was a man alone in that room, in unbearable pain and she was only thinking of a quick fix. She lifted herself back to her feet, clutching the bag and focusing her attention on every step to the door.

_Them and us,_

She was going to help this man if it killed her. She fell into the door for support, cracking it open a bit. How could they hate someone like him? How could anyone hate another different than themselves?

_Stop the war._

The door flew open fom her weight (how little there was) and she stumbled into the murky shadows. He was still on the floor, painfully gasping at every breath he took. His tongue was no longer hanging to the side, but save that, he hadn't moved much. She hobbled over to him and kneeled at his side. Ripping open on bag of bandages with her teeth, she uncapped a water bottle and gently tilted it to his skin. He retreated from the touch in fear and pain, but she assured him it would be alright. His muscles tensed as the water touched his skin. She proceeded to apply the neosporin and dress the wound. Any parts that were still bleeding, she put pressure to with the towels and continued to wrap him up.

He was a mess of towel and wrappings and blood. She didn't notice his eyes fixed on her face as she worked. It was when it came time to clean near his mouth and throat that she caught his stare. She paused, her throat closing up and a flutter of heat coming over her. She looked away, pretending she was searching for something until the flush died from her face. She had used up all of the towels. There was nothing to prop his head up.

She slid a little closer to his head, gently picking it up in her hands and sliding her lap underneath. He was about to grunt in protest but, she beat him to it.

"I have to. It's the only way I can clean the wounds." He didn't went silent and let her continue her work. She tried so hard not to return the stare. His eyes pleaded for her to look at him. _Just look at me_.

He brought a wrapped hand to her face, freezing her in place. His fingertip lightly grazed her upped lip, making her blush violently. When he brought it back down, a trickle of blood was running down his finger. _Oh god_. She brought a hand to her nose. She ripped part of her shirt to press to her nose. She looked away from him again in embarrassment. "I'm sorry,"

"Don' be," his words rolled off a swollen tongue. "Blimey, look a' me," he tried to chuckle, but ended up coughing and winded. She smiled in relief that he could have a sense of humor through all of this. "You wouldn' mind givin' me sum woter, would ya luv" She could see it still pained him to move. She gladly brought a bottle to his lips, tipping the clear liquid into his mouth. He closed his eyes, cherishing the taste with every gulp. "I can get you food if you'd like."

_I'd love to change the world,_

"No, jus' stay wit' me. Alrigh'?" she nodded in compliance. He looked so tired. She stroked his spiked hair with a now calm hand. The tremors had subsided for the time being. He let out a soft sigh as he closed his eyes.

_But, I don't know what to do_.

"Are you awake?" she whispered. His only reply was the sound of heavy breathing and the movement of his chest with every lungful of air. She didn't want to leave him. What if someone found him? She couldn't leave his side.

She pulled the freshest towels over his body and carefully slid her legs out from underneath his head, quickly substituting a rolled up towel as a pillow. She took two more and used them as a blanket and pillow. It didn't take her long to succumb to sleep.

He rolled over in his sleep, groaning from the soreness and reaching out with his arm. His searching hand found her waist and pulled her in tighter to him, letting his face rub againt the back of her neck. She sighed and turned into his embrace, there to stay for the rest of the night.

_A/N: Holy crap, almost five pages. And again it was all written at the taboo hours of night. This has officially become a full fledged story. I hope you're happy reviewers! But, do not expect teh next chapter to be up by tomorrow morning. I've got a lot in store for the day and I'll have no time to write. sorry._


	3. Third Week in the Chelsea

This chapter will be a little lighter in the drama. Once again, I would listen to said song by Jefferson Airplane titled 'Third Week in the Chelsea'.

**Third Week**** in the Chelsea**

It had been three weeks since her 'incident'. Three very different weeks since she had smoked, popped, or shot up anything. Her trembling from withdrawl had ceased to occur and her gaunt figure was filling out.

She was returning from a job interview at Minnie's Diner, the local stop for the blue-collar workers to grab a cup of coffee before going home to their families. It was quaint and friendly; the perfect place for her to start afresh. She whistled cheerfully as she walked down the sidewalk back to her apartment. It was a tune she had heard long ago on her mother's record player.

_Sometimes I feel like I am leaving life behind._

She never thought it possible, but she was pulling herself out of the gutter and was basking under sunny skies once more. Her spirit was rejuvinated. The assumed impossible became possible. She was on top of the world.

The lock of her door clicked and she scooted inside, still whistling the upbeat tune. The first thing she would do upon entering her apartment these days was walk to her balcony and look up to the highest window in the vacant building across the street. The black plastic bag drapery swayed in the wind, revealing a shadowed figure standing at the sill. She sighed with a faint smile. Though she could not see him, she knew he was smiling back.

The morning after she had patched him up, she awoke with a shiver. It wasn't from the withdrawl, but rather the chilly air. Streams of light punched through the holes in the drapes faintly illuminating the room. She quietly slid out from under his arm, praying not to awaken him from his slumber. Unfortunately, she couldn't stay until he woke up.

She had plans for the day.

Leaning on the balcony, she could remember the events of that day flawlessly. She marched all the way to her agency, not stopping to see the receptionist for admittance into her agent's office. The agent had a cigarette in her mouth, talking on the phone with a drawl to a client about how 'her girl' would shake the very foundations of the film industry. Upon seeing one of her little starlets in front of her, she quickly hung up the phone, leaving her client listening to a dial tone.

"Where the _hell_ have you been this past week dear? We've all be _deathly_ worried about you. You haven't returned my calls, your friends have been bombarding me with questions about you, and you've missed a _huge_ photo shoot down in the Hamptons with Kalvin Clein!" her agent ranted in a huff. Everything the old woman in front of her had said went through one ear and out the other.

"I'm leaving the agency," she said quickly. Her agent frowned in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me loud and clear. I can't do this anymore. I need to move on," her words sounded rehearsed. She had been going over them in her head on her way there.

"Darling, how could you say something like that? You've still got a good three years on your body—give or take a few months—and after that, your face should keep up for another five. You could do commercial make-up advertising," again, in one ear, out the other.

"I'm tired of feeling the way I do. I'm sorry," and with that, she showed herself out.

"Hey! You can't do this to me! Come back—" but the door slammed on her voice. With the click of the door closing, a weight lifted itself off her chest. She perked up and curtly smiled at the quizzical expression on the receptionist's face.

On her way back to the vacant apartment, holding the unconscious mutant, she passed the same convenient store from the day before and bought some bagels and orange juice for her new friend. He was probably starving by this time. Once inside the building she passed a mirror in the hallway.

She hadn't noticed it before. What she saw she didn't know at all. Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide. When she looked into the mouth, there was nothing left inside. It was the face of pain and an emptiness trying to be filled. It was a face so foreign to her; she almost didn't recognize herself.

Upon entering the little room at the far end of the hall, she whistled like a sigh. The half-mummified mutant sat on the windowsill, looking down at the busy street below. "I'm sorry to have left you like that," He didn't take his gaze off the street. "I bought breakfast," she held up the bag of bagels and juice. He slowly turned his head and gave her a small smile.

Three bagels and two containers of OJ later, he started to feel the bulge in his stomach reach that achy fullness feeling. He leaned his head back, letting out a heavy sigh of contentment. She sat at the sill with him, silently watching him recover from his starved attack on his breakfast. She couldn't think of anything to say to him, so started with the pleasantries.

"I never caught your name," They both knew proper introductions would come even after such a strange relationship as theirs.

"Toad," he muttered.

"Is that the equivalence to a porn star name?" She couldn't tell whether he was offended or confused by her question. "Ya know, the alter ego everyone knows you by? Maybe because you're embarrassed of what you do?" he snorted at this, "Or it's the cover up because you're ashamed of who you really are?" this hit home, and he looked away. She didn't want to press it, but she had to know what happened to him. "You shouldn't be ashamed of yourself—"

"You have no right to say that. You don't know what I've been through, and frankly you have no bloody right to tell me those things." He snapped at her. The once pained and pleading man had transformed into hatred. Unfortunately for him, she wouldn't back down.

"You think I don't know about being ashamed of myself, or having a shady past I want to forget? _Clearly,_ you saw the shit I have placed upon myself. So—so _don't_ talk to me as if I don't know shame, or—or _pain_." Her words left him silent. She wiped furiously at her eyes, so close to tears.

At last, he spoke up, "I'm sorry," but could go no further.

"Why did you _really_ save me?" The silence was unbearable. He sat there motionless, trying to find words that came to him slowly.

"The first time I saw you from this window, you were huddled next to the wall of your living room. I don't know what you took that night, but you must have had a bad trip. You were a mess, crying, shivering and screaming. However, it wasn't just you I saw heaped on the ground. I saw myself too. The way you tried those drugs, one after another with friends, you were doing it to _feel_ something weren't you?" through her sobs, she nodded. He continued.

"I've done things I'm not proud of. Things that I thought would make me feel something, anything. I did it because I thought I'd be accepted by someone, maybe even loved. I did it thinking I was getting back at the world for how it treated me. I knew it could have killed me, but I did it anyway, just to have that feeling of approval. However, nothing was ever the way I wanted it to be. I could never satisfy my vengeful hunger, and I could never do enough for others. In the long run, it almost killed me," he paused looking out the window once more, focusing his attention on her balcony. "I saw all of that sprawled on the floor next to you and for the first time I can remember I didn't want another person ruining their life for acceptance and falsified emotions. You proved to me Humans have just as many problems as mutants do. Neither of us are a 'perfect' race." She was still attempting to fight off the continuous flow of tears and sniffles. He reached out a hand, touching her flawless cheek with his thumb and wiped a tear away. Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth was agape. Her body froze in place from his contact.

He was surprised she didn't recoil from his touch. She simply looked him in the eyes, almost as if trying to look past them. "You were the first person to ever ask me _who_ instead of _what_ I was," his hand still cupped her chin as he moved in closer to her. He looked down to her lips.

She backed away from his slow advance and inhaled deeply. "I—I'm sorry. I just—I can't," she hopped onto her feet, quickly making her way to the door. It was impossible for her to react in such a fluster of emotions.

_If I can't spend my time with love, I guess I need a rest. _

Just as she pried open the squeaky door she heard his voice again.

"It's Mortimer," she stopped in her tracks, "Mortimer Toynbee." She turned her head back to look at him and blinked. A small smile found its way onto her face.

"Thank you," she disappeared.

It was three weeks later, and she hadn't seen him since. She did stop up there once or twice, but there was no trace of him. As if, he never existed. Nevertheless, she would look up at the vacant building everyday for him. Moreover, that mid-day exactly three weeks after her incident, she saw the figure, looking out his window and smiled.

She lay awake in her bed, unable to give in to sleep. Her light silk curtains, danced in the night breeze, making a soft ruffling noise. The moonlight played on her face, and light up the room. She just could not fall asleep.

She sat upright, rubbing the bridge of her nose. A soft thump met her ears, jerking her head up. A silouhette was crouched on her balcony, outlined by the full moon. She glided over, parting the curtains to reveal him, crouched on her railing, looking deeply into her eyes.

She slowly moved over to him, a twinge of embarrassment overcoming her. "I—," he stopped her by pressing a thumb over her lips. She had been forgiven.

His hand cupped her chin just as he did three weeks ago, but she was ready. She wanted it this time. She leaned into his touch and put a hand on his. Their lips lightly brushed, as he was hesitant to go on. She could have helped him, but something told her he had to do this. At last, he slowly kissed her, a bit awkward at first, but she didn't mind.

She didn't mind at all.

It had been a long time since she felt that good. Nothing was hollow about his feelings. He felt for her just as she felt for him and she wanted to soak up all she could of this grand sensation. However, he parted from her, resting his forehead upon hers. He held her hands, as if to never let go. Words were uneccessary to hear his thoughts.

_Well what is going to happen now is anybody's guess_

_And sunshine's waiting for me a little further down the road__…_

A/N: Dear God, this chapter was a bitch to write. Next chapter will be up sometime next week. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Someday Never Comes

'Someday Never Comes' is by Creedence Clearwater Revival. They are a great band to listen to when in a classic rock mood. Bob Marley's 'War' was also a big contributor to this chapter.

**Someday Never Comes**

**"**Until 'de philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned, everywhere is war. You hear me right. Me say war!" Masses of people blocked the streets. There were thousands of them. Homo sapiens, homo superiors, blacks, whites, catholics, Hindus, every creed and color and power you could imagine ranting and chanting all for the same cause.

"Dat until there is no longer first class and second class citizens of any nation; until 'de mutant power is as habitual as breathing; until the colour of a man's skin is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes, me say war!" A Jamaican woman stood on top of a newspaper stand, riling up the swarming crowd below her. Her dredlocks would dance and bob everytime she turned her head. An uproar of chorus yelled back to her, "war!"

"Dat until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all, without regard to species, dis a war!" Again, the crowd screamed in unison, "war!" "Dat until that day the dream of lasting peace, world citizenship, rule of international morality will remain in but a fleeting illusion to be pursued, but never attained. Now everywhere is war! _War!_" The multitudes chanted "War! War! War!" It hurt her ears listening to this. _Neither of us are a 'perfect' race._ He understood better than any man or woman in the multitudes.

"And until 'de ignoble and unhappy regimes 'dat hold our brothers in Russia, in Columbia, South Africa sub-human bondage have been toppled, utterly destroyed," she could almost go no further, beating her chest and flailing her arms in an excited hysteria." Well, everywhere is war. Me say war!" They stomped the ground, rose fists to the heavens, bellowed like crazed beasts. She paced across the stand like a tiger waiting for its prey.

"War in de east, war in de west. War up north, war down south. War, war, rumours of war! And, until dat day, 'te seven continents will not know peace; we mutants will fight. We find it necessary and we know we shall win, as we are confident in de victory, of Good over Evil! Good over Evil!" As she repeated those three words, a few joined her, followed by more until the mob was cheering it over and over.

"Good over Evil! Good over Evil! Good over Evil!" She had seen enough. She was coming home from work, planning to have a relaxing evening, when she fell upon the rally in the streets. The media frenzy had cameras locked onto homemade signs and the mob of people. For how thrilling the sight was, she just wanted to go home after a long day.

As she turned down a block, the sound of explosions deafened her. The tribal chanting turned to screams of terror as gunshots claimed the skies. Before anything could register, panicked blurs of people sped by knocking her to the ground. The blood pumped in her ears louder and louder as the gunfire crept closer.

Before the shots rounded the corner of the street, a powerful hand grabbed the collar of her jacket pulling her into the closest alley. The figure jacked her to a wall covering a hand over her mouth to stop her screams.

"Shhh! It's okay, it's just me," she looked under the hood of the stranger's jacket. "Mort!" Relief poured over her like cold water. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "We can't stay here much longer," he said in reply to her death grip. Grabbing her hand, they lurked through the back alleyways, cautiously stopping when the gunshots broke the silence and would proceed down another alley away from the sound. All the while, her heart raced and she couldn't help but glance behind her shoulder in paranoia.

He poked his head out to a street and signaled her to come. They were right in front of her apartment. The street was deserted but he refused to leave the safety of the shadows with her. She turned around to see his gloomy face with a pang in her heart. She held out a hand for him, pleading with her eyes.

"I can't," he shook his head. "You know I can't," Before he could say more, she rushed to his side, giving him a passionate kiss. His arms found their way around her waist as he pushed her to a wall. They refused to part. Neither wanted these moments to end since they were scarce and always hidden from the world.

"Why?" she whispered. His breath was warm on her neck. He kissed her neck gently, making her moan a little. He liked it when she did this.

"Someday, you'll understand." She couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or laugh at this.

"You know my daddy would say the same thing when I'd ask him why." He stared into her eyes. He longed to have more of her. "Why's the sky blue? Why do we die? You wanna know what I learned?" his face scrunched with a quizzical expression. "Someday never comes." She gave him one last peck before watchfully scampering across the street. He waited until she closed the door behind her. With the click of the lock, he disappeared into the shadows.

The news switched back and forth from the activists to smoke and explosions in the streets back to the cardboard signs swaying back and forth. The anchorman talked of an anti-mutant group that initiated the attack. Ten people were announced dead by the end of the day and the number was rising. Riots continued to wreak havoc on the streets below her. She didn't need the news to hear the guns and screams of frightened, panicking people. The sirens of police cars and ambulence screeched in the night until forbidden hours.

It was four weeks after her incident.

No one came or left the buildings; you were crazy to even look out your window in fear of a stray bullet. But, she did it anyway. Death was no longer a terrifying issue with her. She wished he had stayed with her. He made her feel safe. Once again, she was alone. She wrapped her arms around herself, resting her chin on her knees. She watched the endless stream of deaths and tribal chanting back to deaths then again to the chaotic mobs. _E__nough__ of this_, the television screen blackened out.

Two more shots were heard in the distance, startling her out of her reverie. She couldn't focus her mind on anything else except him. _I hope __he's__ safe._ She could see him, cornered by those savages. Cornered and shot dead on the spot. Shot in cold blood. Left to die alone in the dark.

_Bang!_

"That's it!" She grabbed her jacket and left the apartment. Out on the street, it was eerily quiet. It hadn't been this silent for hours. She eyed the road before crossing the vacant building she was quickly recognising as his home. Ever since the night he returned to her balcony, she had pleaded with him to stay with her in the apartment. He didn't have to live out of that jalopy of a building.

_"We__ can't risk it. If someone sees us together, they'll hunt me down and you'll be shunned by everyone once the news is out."_ His words stung her deeply. _Don't__ leave me_.

She shuddered at the memory. Ever since meeting him, he was all about secrecy. She thought he was being paranoid and overreacting. Another explosion shook the ground. She could understand his concern now.

"hey, haven't I seen you before?" her hand was frozen inches from the doorknob to the complex. Terror filled her body. "Yeah, the model. Jesus, it's been a while." She could hear a ruffling of a plastic bag as the man pulled something out of his coat pocket. "Interested in another fix?"

"I—uh, I actually. Well, you see," she stammered for words, not daring to look at him. "I—sort of, umm, kicked the habit. So I'm—umm, I'm not interested," She fumbled with the door, but before she could open it, a thinning hand spun her around to meet an atrocity of a face.

His greyed skin hung limp on his cheekbones and his forehead sagged, leaving his eyes to fall back in their sockets. Teeth were missing in his gaping mouth. An all too chilling sensation filled her as she eyed a very familiar bag with a very familiar white substance. _I kicked the habit_. The white powder consumed her senses. She felt herself sink into the past. Her windpipe constricted her breathing. Each speck of white was one speck of hate, loathing, sadness, and lonliness in her memories. Every tear, every scream, every depressing moment came flooding back with the sight of that bag.

_Get it away from me_. She batted the bag away from her face, knocking it out of his hands. A small white cloud hovered above the ground and dissipated into the fading daylight. The man looked at his empty bag with a sort of nostalgic gloom, as if he'd just seen his dog be flattened by a truck. His lower lip quivered and his eyes watered. As fast as he broke down his eyes turned back to her filled with a horrible rage.

"That was my last bag," he muttered coldly. She regained her composure with the sight of the heroin spiraling away. "_That was my last bag!_"

"I had to do it," she barked, standing her ground. He raised a hand to smack her, making her flinch. But, he didn't have time to lay a blow across her face. A long tongue wrapped around his arm like an anaconda, holding it in place.

"What the—ARGH!" she saw his forearm snap in half with a sickening crack. She could see the bone as the tongue dislodged itself. He cradled his arm stumbling around, convulsing in agony. "Oh god!" he ran wide-eyed down the street, only leaving the empty bag and the sound of his screams behind. Her breathing was rough with shock and she collapsed to the ground. Mort jumped down from his hiding spot and held her in his arms.

"Wot in the 'ell are ya doin' 'ere?" She let the tears fall, so confused with the situation. Words were caught in her throat, choking on her cries. She pushed past him and ran into her apartment. Once upstairs, she collaped onto her couch, sobbing loudly into a tear-moistened pillow. Nothing could have prepared her for that. The cracking of bone rang throug her ears as she saw his arm snap in two. She had almost become sick from the sight and the continuous loop of his arm bending in an unnatural way made her all the more nauseous. _I was better off watching the news._ She turned the television back on which was streaming footage from D.C. A newscaster was standing outside the Capitol building.

_"__Activists are already responding to the attacks in New York by planning a demonstration on Capitol Hill. It __is said__ the __demonstration will take place in two weeks__. One __organizer__has been quoted__ saying, 'We will continue to fight for mutant freedoms as long as it'll take. If we need to be out here until Congress votes on the mutant registration bill, so be it.' Just to remind the viewer, the bill referring to mutant registration will not be voted on for another t__hree__ months." _

She heard a soft thud on her balcony.

"You didn't have to do that," she mumbled standing up to face him.

"He was goin' to 'urt you!" His grasp on her wrists was forceful, but she understood it was out of concern. "I wasn' goin' to let 'im lay a finger on you."

"How could you do that so easily? You didn't hesitate for a second. You just," her words drifted as she gestured with her hands something breaking. "How?" he tried to keep his guard up, but finally broke under her stare.

"You really want to know?" she nodded hesitantly. She was going to regret this. "I told you, I did things I'm not proud of. People have been frightened of me since I can remember. I hated them for it." He turned his back to her in shame of his next words. "Then I learned I didn't have to put up with the mockery and the pain." His hands clenched into fists.

"Mort?" she whispered. His tone was putting her on edge.

"I _killed_ your kind for a living. I did it without a moment's hesitation." He scoffed loudly. "I thought I was doing the world a favor, ridding it of the inferior species." He turned back to her, "could you blame me?"

They stared intently at one another. She looked unphazed by his words, though her emotions betrayed her. The only sound in the room was the newscaster still talking about the large protest rally in Washington. She broke eye contact to watch the televsion. Thousands were responding to the demonstration proposal by donating money and volunteering.

_"This just in, over a dozen musicians and bands have confirmed they will be participating in the demonstration by playing on the steps of Congress and the Lincoln Memorial. Speakers known world wide for their positions on human and mutant rights are already talking to Congress on behalf of __the populace against the bill__. This will quickly become the largest demonstration since the March on Washington in 1963.__"_

"Wot? Wot is it?" she heard his words in the distance of her thoughts. Her eyes lit up with a ludicrous idea.

"Come to Washington with me."

A/N: I appologise for such a late update. My vacation to the Jersey shore happened to be paradise and I couldn't pull myself away from the cute surfing instructors.


	5. We Can Change the World

I've been noticing more and more Toad fics lately and I must say I'm very proud. I think a small group of us has revived the Toad fandom! Huzzah!

**We Can Change the World**

"Are you out of your damn mind?" he watched her from a corner as she criss-crossed her bedroom, stuffing a small messenger bag with clothing. "Have you completely lost it?"

"I'm tired of this Mort," she exclaimed between shoving socks and a bra into the bag. "It's not right that we have to hide our relationship." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She knew he was uneasy about calling their situation a relationship, but it was the truth. She walked over to him, placing her hands in his. "We can set an example for the world. We can show everyone it is possible for mutants and humans to live peacefully together."

He stood absolutely staggered by her new surge of ambition. "You have completely lost it," she pursed her lips at his remark. In an instant, she stormed over to her windows, throwing open the shutters to the racous below. Shots still rang through the air followed by the occaisional scream or siren.

"Do you hear that?" she inquired in a snappish tone. He responded very cross and with narrowed eyes. "Answer me Mort."

"What I 'ear is a group of bigots showin' off the power they think they 'ave over us," he wasn't hesitant to snap back at her.

"And beyond that are people crying for help; people afraid to walk out their front door because of a gift that was given to them," she would parry his rebuttles all night if necessary. All she wanted was to have him by her side when she left for Washington. She didn't want him to be afraid to show his face in public. "Are you telling me we should just sit on our hands and do nothing to help?"

"Wot your trying to prevent has been in the fabric of human bein's since they learned to stand on two feet. There will always be a group that hates us no matter how hard you try to persuade them. Your idealistic fantasy is unreal to those people and you need to understand that." He was on the verge of yelling at her. How could he make his point clear? A lifetime of tauntings and neglect couldn't be wrong.

"So you'd rather hide from them?"

"It's a better option than fighting them. Trust me, I found that out the hard way." She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She threw her hands up in frustration and quickly ran her fingers through her hair.

"You simply amaze me." She stated plainly. "Here I am, the homo sapien, a member of the species that's 'out to get you'. Yet I am willing to help you along with hundreds if not _thousands_ of other _homo sapiens_ to fight for your species' freedoms. And here you are, hiding in delapidated apartments, living off scraps and not giving a damn about your fellow brothers and sisters." She laughed at the irony. "What the hell is wrong with this picture?"

"Try living a few days like we do—" she interrupted him with a sudden outburst.

"You're being a _selfish__ coward!_" she brought a hand to her mouth in surprise. She didn't mean to yell like that.

Her words took him by surprise. His face contained an anger she had never seen before, and for the first time she was afraid of him. Without a second glance, he turned on his heel and walked out to the living room. She could hear the balcony door open and slam close with a rustle of drapes. She flinched at the sound and began to weep. Through the tears in her eyes and the pain in her heart, she continued packing.

_A selfish coward?_ He could not believe her words. They floated through his head, punching him in the gut every time he heard them. He wasn't a coward. And how in God's name was he being selfish? It was called looking out for one's interests. His interests didn't happen to involve anyone else except her and him. That's all the mattered in his life.

A leg dangled out of the windowsill of his hideout. He had to keep an eye on her whether he was seething with anger or not.

He was tired of taking a stand on this issue. He was tired of fighting the impossible fight. She needed to understand that. _I'll__ explain __later when I don't feel like ripping her head off_. He stopped in his tracks. _That's__ if there is a later_. He sighed inwardly. This whole ordeal may have forced them apart for good. "No," he shook his head, "I can't let this difference tear us apart."

"Somebody please, help me!" the scream came from the street below him. He tore his eyes from her window to see a woman running frantically from a pack of men. Stupidly, she cornered herself right into a dead end and turned to face the gang slowly advancing on her.

"You said she was at the rally today?" one of the men (most likely the leader) asked the group.

"Yeah, I saw her there. She ain't a freak, but she's still a sympathizer," a crony replied. They had guns and knives in hand, patiently anticipating the blood about to be spilt.

"Aw, that's a shame missy, cause you see, my boys and I, we don't _sympathize_ for the sympathizers." His boys howled with laughter. Tears were staining the girl's cheeks as she fought for air through her frightened sobs.

"Please don't hurt me," she gasped. The laughter halted.

"Didn't I just tell you we don't feel sorry for people who support those mutant bastards?" the blade of the knife flicked open making her flinch. "So much for a _war_." He smirked.

Before the blade could touch her throat, a pair of powerful legs plunged into his stomach, sending him flying backwards. The girl covered her face protectively, jumping at every grunt or thud she would hear in front of her. When everything went silent once more, she took her hands from her face. The entire pack was on the ground, bloodied and broken, with one individual standing in the middle of them, panting furiously.

His eyes moved to her, freezing her in place. He didn't move, but just stared at her through his winded breathing. When finding her voice she quietly thanked him. He continued to stare.

"You—you saved my life,"

"Go 'ome," he commanded. She blinked in confusion.

"Wha—?"

"I said go 'ome." With that, he made a leap onto the wall next to him and scaled it to the roof, disappearing over the edge. Her eyes lingered on the spot he had been standing before she started her cautious trek to safety.

"Train eleven to Washington D.C. station departs in thirty minutes," the conductor anounced. After the ring of the speakers faded, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young came back on, pleading to their preoccupied audience in the train station to come to Chicago.

_For the help we can __bring, _

_We can change the world._

The bus stations were packed with people headed for Washington, so her next option was the train. A bit more expensive, but she'd arrive much faster. With her one bag, she weaved through crowds of tourists, ex-hippies, college students, military personel and men trying to look important in their tailored suits.

The man behind the ticket counter gave her a small smile, "Headed to Washington ma'am?"

"How could you tell?" she asked jokingly. The ticket master's face slowly turned from a smile to a suspicious frown.

"Make tha' two for Washington," Until that moment she wouldn't have known hope even if it slapped her in the face. She turned around to meet him eye to eye. The hood to his jacket was pulled up as to not attract attention. He looked very anxious, ocassionally glancing from side to side at surrounding people. There was nothing in the world, save them. Everything else disappeared from sight. There was no one else to stare rudely at them. There were no anouncements of departure times. It was just them.

_Re-arrange the world_

_It's__ dying to get better_

Her arms found their way around his neck in a firm hug. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. With that, he smiled slightly. She parted from him, quickly paying the all-too-shocked ticket master. They remained silent, holding hands as they passed onlookers with mixed expressions. Some were admiration, others disgust. But, she ignored them. He was with her, and that was all that mattered. His touch, his warmth, him; It was all there.

On the train, she rested her head on his shoulder while he laid an arm around her back. Their fingers intertwined and he kissed her forehead before falling asleep.

_No one else can take your place._

Had they heeded the other passengers around them, they would have noticed the funny little bald man with a camera dangling around his neck, staring intently at the two of them. He raised the camera to eye level. He put them into focus with a large grin playing on his lips.

_Snap!_

A/N: Okay, a bit shorter than usual, but I think I ended it at a good point. I'm guessing there may be three more chapters to go. We'll have to see. I hope you all enjoyed!


	6. Instant Karma

'Instant Karma' is by John Lennon.

**Instant Karma**

The city was bleak and grey. Swarms of enthusiastic protesters arrived in waves by buses, planes and trains, severly contrasting the dull ambiance set by looming clouds. They threatened to unleash a watery hell upon the mortals below, but the demonstrators refused to budge from their spot.

The two were already under cover in the tents set up in the Washington memorial fields.

"Alright I'll need you to fill out these housing forms and here's your tent number," a scraggly college student handed them clipboards and a numbered tag, and moved on to the next group. After finishing the paperwork, they left the housing quarters to search for their tent in the infinite rows of blow-up tents. Mort, instantly noticed the black clouds rolling in on top of them and shuddered. He hurried to her side grabbing hold of her hand firmly.

"Is everything okay?" she asked with a worried tone. He breathed deeply and gave a nervous smile.

"I'm fine," he jumped right out of his boots from a clap of thunder. His heart raced in his chest. She frowned at his unease.

"Don't worry; it's just a little lightning." She returned the firm squeeze he had on her hand.

"Oh yeah, to you it's a little lightning. To me—" The sky lit up from threds of lightning branching out through the sky, followed by the bellowing roar of thunder. His skin had gone completely white. "Need I say more?" he yelled over the thunder. He jumped with every crack and became jerky in his movements. It was really starting to concern her.

"Here we are," she unzipped the front panel, letting him in first. It was very bare except for two military sleeping bags occupying the corners. He immediately sat on the ground placing his hands on his head. "What's wrong?"

"Don't worry about it luv," he winced as another bolt raced over their tent. His body rocked back and forth while he mumbled something repeatedly under his breath. She crouched beside him, unsure of what comfort she could give. "Damn weather witch," she had caught him hiss under his breath. _What on __Earth__ is he talking about?_

Rain pattered on the outside of the tent, trapping them until the storm blew over. The lightning was relentless. Flashes incessantly blinded the pair, sending him further into a paralysis. She begged for the storm to stop; she pleaded to God to make it go away. She couldn't stand seeing him like this. She wrapped her arms around his stiff form and whispered softly in his ear that it would all be over soon.

The last of the thunder was a dull roar miles away, but the rain continued to pound the camp. The rhythm of the droplets beating the tent sustained for two hours. No other sounds dared to break the watery cadence. She had been stroking his hair to relax him, but to no avail. It wasn't until the booming thunder had died down that his muscles slackened.

She let out a breath of relief once he leaned into her arms. "What the hell was that?" she didn't mean to sound harsh, but that was out of character for him.

"An irrational fear is all," His voice didn't sound that believable, but she wouldn't press the conversation. She'd seen irrational fear. Claustrophobia, acrophobia, phonophobia; but this was extreme. He was the shell of a person for two hours. "Don' worry abou' me," he gave her a sly grin while brushing back the hair on her face. She noticed the scars on his hands. They never talked about how he ended up so badly injured. She figured he would tell her when he was ready; or perhaps when he felt _she_ was ready.

"I have to worry about you. It's my job." The corners of her mouth curled upward into a smile as they were about to share a tender kiss.

"Hello!" a balding head popped into the tent, startling the couple. "Hope I'm not interrupting, but I thought you would loveto see this _magnificent_ shot I took earlier this morning." He flipped the camera hanging from his neck around to show them the LCD screen. She was taken aback in shock while Mort frowned furiously at the man's cheery face. There they were on the screen, asleep in eachother's arms on the train to Washington. He didn't lie when he told them it was a beautiful shot. The lighting was perfect, No one else lingered in the background as a distraction and they looked natural in their cuddling position.

They looked happy.

Her surprise turned to a sort of awe at the small pixelated photograph. "What the 'ell is the big idea doin' this?" Mort barked at the photographer.

"Precisely m'boy! It's a _grand_ idea." a look of rememberance spread over his face. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry not introducing myself first. Potential award winning photos always get the best of me." He stuck a hand through the opening of the tent, fervidly shaking each of their hands. "William Hoskin. You can call me Bob. I'm the senior photographer with TIME magazine." He paused a beat, giving Mort enough time to step in.

"I don't care who you're with. I want tha' picture erased and for you to leave us alone," he grabbed Bob's collar forcefully.

Bob returned an uneasy smile. "You don't understand. I'm here for the same reason as you. Please hear me out," he winced as Mort applied more pressure to his grip.

"Mort, please," she pleaded with him. Her hand grabbed his, clasped around the man's neck. He looked into her eyes with a skeptical look. "All we have to do is listen," she looked at Bob, purple in the face and cringing at the asphyxiation he was undergoing. She looked back into her lover's eyes. "And, if we don't like what he's saying, then you can kick his ass." Mort immediately smiled, releasing his grip on the little bald man.

"I knew I liked you for a reason," She beamed at his comment. Her smile was intoxicating. A look of mischevious adoration flashed in his eyes.

"Alright _Bob_, start talkin'." The man coughed, rubbing the red mark on his neck.

"_Ehem_, yes well, as I said, before we're here pretty much for the same reasons. Promote unity and peace between the mutant and human communities, yada yada, and all that jazz. However, my company didn't want me coming home just with the 'I went to the mutant rally in Washington and all I got was this lousy t-shirt' shtick." She smirked at his quirky sense of humor. Even in the face of a danger that went by the name of Toad. "They want real. They want something that will shake the foundations of this very argument and shift the majority of opinions in favor to mutant tolerance." He paused with that already too-familiar epiphanized grin.

"That's where the two of you come in."

They looked at eachother then back at Bob who was pleading with his eyes for their approval. Mort crossed his arms, intrigued by this man's sensible babble.

"Go on."

The gloomy days of DC quickly turned to cloudless nights. The reflecting pool shined like glass under the full moon with lampposts lining the walkways to the Lincoln Memorial. A bonfire blazed the sky as hundreds of humans and mutants littered the steps and streets to the memorial, singing, dancing, philosophizing and so on. Just as the mob in New York gathered for war, people from all walks of life came to voice their plea for peace.

John Lennon's heart sang through the voices of dozens with laughter and banter weaving through the unified singers. One woman in particular danced freely by the fire, singing along with her fellow brothers and sisters.

They complied with Bob's idea of showing the American population that both races could coexist. He promised not to follow them incessantly, but to linger in the shadows for more 'photo ops'. They were given notice that the pictures were sent to TIME headquarters for acceptance into the next issue. Under Mort's request, their names were kept secret.

He sat on the steps watching her twirl gaily through other dancers smiling even more at her happiness. The woman pointed to him and sung, "Who on earth d'you think you are? A super star, well right you are!" The chorus neared, sending everyone to their feet.

_"Well we all shine on. Like the moon, the stars and the sun. Yeah, we all shine on! Come on and on and on!"_ Energy buzzed through the air. Everyone danced in the carefree atmosphere. The two closed the gap between them and he took her hands in his. Her skirt trailed behind her with every twist and turn she made. "Why in the world are we here?" She asked in a mock accent. "Surely not to live in pain and fear." Her laugh was contagious as he began to chuckle with her.

"Not with you by me luv," he grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the swarm of dancers. She followed obediently behind him into the shadows of the trees. The voices of the crowd died away in the dense woods, leaving them alone with only the moon to bare witness to their love.

As you already know, these moments were few and far between in a land far away with enough viable fears to hide love from. But, that night was different. That night was reserved for ecstasy and bliss. Wrapped in eachother's arms, lips brushing, they felt their affection for the other flow fearless and undying. Whispers escaped their lips.

"I love you,"

"I love you too."

The night passed on in this lustful complacency.

" Mort, I think you should come hear this," she gently grabbed his hand. She led him through the protesters, many of whom stole glances of the two and whispered to eachother excitedly as they passed by.

They had been in Washington for two weeks. The grand protest was right around the corner; the modern march on Washington they were calling it. A sea of heads stretched for what felt like miles. Bands played for days and bonfires scorched the pavement in front of the Lincoln memorial every night. In her mind, this was the closest she would get to her mother and father's memories of the age of free love.

Bob and TIME magazine completely shocked the couple with their newest issue. Not only did their train picture make it into the article on the mutant rights demonstration, but they were also on the cover. It was a shot of them embracing with the Washington Memorial in the background. Her arms hung around his neck while he wrapped his around her waist. Their foreheads rested on one another's while they gazed longingly into eachother's eyes. She remembered that moment in great detail. The picture unsuprisingly received a boatload of mixed emotions. They were certainly the talk of the capital if not the country that week.

They came to the edge of the crowd. An elderly man at least in his seventies sat cross-legged on a woven mat with a half circle of people around him. He wore wrinkles of wisdom, an aging grey beard and bushy eyebrows that hid the sparkle of his eyes from humanity. His clothes we rags, but his posture would fool you into believing they were the robes of kings.

A few feet from him stood a middle-aged man, dressed simply in jeans and a grey t-shirt. He too held a group of supporters behind him cheering him on. The smug look on his face made her feel uneasy. He wasn't there when she left to find Mort.

"All the shit comin' out of your mouth, and outta all those ex-hippies' mouths is wrong. You think they're safe?" the man standing looked into the crowd and caught sight of Mortimer. "You think _he's_ safe?" Faces turned towards the couple. The intensity of the stares made her sink into Mort, who returned his uneasiness by grasping her shoulders.

"Fuck you!" She spat at the stranger. The older man would have none of this and put a hand up to silence her, never taking his gaze off the sleaze in front of him. All eyes fixed themselves back onto the sitting Wiseman.

"Do you understand the concept of perception my good man?" the elder spoke softly. The man shook his head hesitantly. "Then allow me to elucidate on the subject." He pulled a bottle of cola from his tattered clothes and placed it in front of him. "What color is this coke?"

The man's face contorted in confusion, but replied, "I dunno, I guess brown. Dark caramel maybe." The elder scoffed and shook his head as if the man in front of him was a four year old.

"Are you insane? It's clearly green," his statement completely baffled everyone within earshot of the conversation. Mort frowned, trying to piece this man's logic together. Eric would do that to him occasionally. He would ask trick questions and give little clues to bigger philosophies. He said it would help to see the 'big picture'.

"I don't think it's me you have to worry about being insane buddy. Either that, or you're color blind." Again, the elder shook his head disappointedly.

"Oh no, we see the same thing; the same hue, the same shade and tint of color. It's just green, not brown." The crowd was gradually growing larger around the two men. People completely encomapssed them, making the supporters of the grey shirted men a bit uncomfortable.

"You really _are_ crazy! How on God's _green_ Earth can you sit there and tell me the color I've always known as brown is called something different?—"

"Stop!" the older man raised his hand to him, shutting the man up immediately. "It is precisely that." A buzz of confusion emitted from the group of people watching. "What is it we are fighting about?"

The man stammered, "The color of your damn coke!"

"No, we've established that we see the same color. What is it we are _really_ arguing about?" the buzz grew to a dull roar. She looked at Mort to see if he was as confused as she was. His features made him appear distant with thought. The grey shirted man looked defeated and shrugged his shoulders exasperatedly. "That, my friend, is perception. When two people see something but hold opposing opinions about it. When physically the substance is the same, but mentally it is different. We argue over two meaningless words, just as two bodies of people argue over mutants. We both see them, clear as day and we see what they can do. You believe them to be dangerous; inhuman beasts that deserve to be locked up and beaten to extinction in a humiliating and exposing manner." He stopped for breath. Not a person stirred, waiting for him to continue.

"What do I see?" the older man turned his head to the couple. She instinctively gripped Mortimer's hand for support. His gaze was so overpowering. He turned back to his opponent and friend. "I see hope. I see love."

The next sound to shatter the tense air was that of a gunshot. Screams followed as spectators scurried from the grey shirted man holding the smoking gun.

She didn't hear the screams. There was no fear. Death was no longer a terrifying issue with her. She didn't notice Mort tackle the gun wielding maniac to the ground. All she saw was the man lying on the ground, calm, looking deeply into her eyes. The coke bottle was kicked onto its side, the liquid substance soaking into the ground. She knelt at his side, looking at the wound in this chest. Blood gushed from the opening, staining his rags with red. He didn't seem to mind. Perhaps he too was not afraid of death. But, she still had one question to ask him before he let death claim him.

"Will there always be hope?" He chuckled at her question. Faintly, he answered her.

"Remember to love. Hope will follow," and he was gone.

A hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the sunken form of the man. Police swarmed the area. She was being pulled further from the scene, from the dead man lying in a puddle of his own blood and wisdom that was quickly soaking into the ground just as the coke did.

In the tent that night, she sat staring reticently at the ground. Mort didn't dare disturb her. He knew the day's events really shook her up. Unfortunately, the two men outside their tent didn't know any better.

"Hello!" a familiar balding head popped itself through the opening of their tent. Neither of them looked up at Bob, but held their solemn expressions. "Is it a good time to sit and chat with the two of you?" Mortimer snorted at this.

"No, it's not a good fuckin' time to talk to either one of us righ' now," he snapped at the photographer. Bob, kept his composure and continued.

"Alright, just thought you'd like to hear a modest proposal by the chief manager of this whole shebang." Mort was getting more aggravated by the second. "He really wants to talk to the both of ya."

"Well you can tell this manager to piss off." The other man standing outside the tent pushed Bob aside and poked his head through the opening. He was hairless with a strong jaw. His skin was a sickly yellow and his eyes were completely purple with little black dots for pupils.

"I'm terribly sorry to intrude after such a troubling time earlier today. However, my fellow staff and organizers of the rally, including myself, wanted to extend an invitation to you both to talk at tomorrow's big event in front of the capitol. It would be a quick five minute section about the two of you and how your, how should we say, relationship can inspire the mutant and human communities alike." He seemed honest enough, but the day's incident was proving tiresome. "You've already become quite a hit after the TIME story."

"You are fuckin' insane to think I'd let her get into 'arm's way after wot jus' 'appened today." She didn't raise her head or try to argue. There were just too many things on her mind already.

"Please understand, we would never have asked if there was a chance we'd be putting you in danger." He was on the verge of begging with his fellow mutant.

"No bloody way is she gettin' on that stage after a shootin'." Through the jumble of emotions running through her the only thought that crossed her mind was, _oh no__ here we go again._

A/N: Damn, over six pages! This was much longer than I was expecting. This was heart and soul all the way! I hope you enjoyed my philosophical rant.


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